When I Need You, Page 6

  . . total bonus.

  Then a voice boomed over the sound system. “Listen up, competitors. Now you’ve seen the routine all the way to the end. This is the only group practice, so pay attention to what’s going on in front of you and behind you. Know your own space. Flight one, take the floor. Cue the music from the beginning.”

  Two dozen girls spread out on the mat. Dallas stood at the front, leading the group, while Rowan and another woman walked along opposite sides of the competitors, holding clipboards.

  The entire routine lasted a little over two minutes. It surprised me to see how well the competitors synced with each other, given their random number assignments. According to the signage I’d seen, they weren’t allowed to try out with a predetermined group, for either the choreographed numbers or the stunting portion. When they performed a move I didn’t know the official name for, I Googled it. I didn’t want to come across like an idiot not knowing anything about cheerleading.

  For the next hour, I watched twelve flights enact the same routine. A few competitors stood out, but I hadn’t seen anyone on par with Dallas and especially not close to Rowan’s performance level. I’d stuck around to see the stunt groups, but the people behind me said those tryouts weren’t until tomorrow.

  Before I could bail, a dark-haired sprite bounded up the bleacher steps.

  “Fancy meeting you here, JB.” She plopped down next to me. “And FFR? You can’t pull off Walker’s lumbersexual look.”

  “Nice to see you too, baby cuz. What the hell is FFR?”

  “For future reference.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “Dude, keep up with the current lingo. Totes ages you when you have to ask for an explanation.”

  “Gimme a break. You totes make up your own lingo,” I pointed out. “Besides, I’m sure my aura registered confusion so you should’ve known. Or did you miss that reading, Miss Woo-Woo?”

  She snorted. “Woo-woo. One of these days I’ll take offense to that. But for now, I’m chalking it up to your unenlightened attitude. So what brings you here? In disguise, no less?”

  “I’m here for enlightenment. I’m avoiding being recognized so not to detract from the competition Rowan is running.” Not an egotistical statement, just fact. Pro football players were treated like celebrities—regardless of whether we deserved it.

  “Rowan?” she repeated. “You mean Coach Michaels?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s going on between you two?” Dallas demanded. “How do you even know her?”

  “She and her son are subleasing Martin’s apartment.”

  “Oh. Right. Now I remember that Axl’s former neighbor was her brother. He stopped by practice a few times to pick up Calder.”

  I looked at her. “You know Calder?”

  Dallas said, “Yep. I used to babysit him once in a while when Coach’s regular sitters had a conflict. Sweet kid.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here on campus. You swore you were done with all of this after graduation.”

  “I was. I mean, I am.” She started fiddling with the bracelets lining her forearm. “You probably don’t remember, but I quit the cheer team for a while last year.”

  “Of course I remember. That was when you were involved with Iron Man.”

  Her gaze met mine. “Quitting the team had nothing to do with me doing a hot Russian hockey dude. Back then I’d had some other issues. Rather than create more problems for myself, I quit the team.”

  Why hadn’t I heard of any of the other issues?

  Maybe you had heard about it, you just chose to ignore it. Or you figured someone else in the family would take care of it.

  “Coach Michaels let me sit out for the rest of the football season,” she continued. “When I told her I still wanted to quit the squad when basketball season started, she refused to accept my resignation.” She paused. “She understood I needed a focal point. And she was right. It was the only thing that got me through it. So when I heard she needed help with cheer camp, I volunteered.”

  I inhaled a deep breath. “Does anyone in the family know . . . ?”

  “No. I’m already seen as the baby. Plus, everyone thinks I’m a freakazoid from being born with secondary perceptions. ‘Oh, Dallas, honey, you’re probably making things seem worse than they are.’ Last year was mass chaos with the Lund Collective. Jax quit drinking. You were injured. Annika was in a secret relationship. Walker and Brady were trying to figure out how to balance their careers with being newly married. Nolan was picking up the slack at LI. Then my world collapsed when Ig—” She shook her head. “Then there’s my brother.”

  “What’s going on with Ash?” I said sharply. Of all my cousins, Ash always held it together.

  “He’s joyless. He has pulled so far into his shell that I can’t even see his aura let alone read it.” Dallas violated my space to warn, “Don’t you dare tell anyone what I said about Ash, JB. I’m not kidding. You asked why I didn’t confide in the Lund Collective, and there’s your answer.”

  “Fine.” I lightly flicked her nose, knowing she hated it. But we needed some levity.

  “Don’t do that, jerkwad.” She harrumphed when she tried to shove me and I didn’t budge.

  “Maybe I didn’t know any of this before, but I know it now. If your aura starts closing in on you and you need to talk, call me, okay?”

  “Dude. Your aura can’t close in on you like a cloak of doom . . .” She frowned. “Although, when I think about it, that is kind of what it feels like. Suffocating darkness.”

  “See? I’m not totally clueless with the woo-woo stuff.”

  “But you are avoiding my question on what’s going on between you and Coach Michaels.”

  “Nothing. We’re neighbors. I’m here supporting her since her brother is on vacay.”

  “Uh-huh. It has nothing to do with her bein’ totes adorbs, right?”

  Jesus. Totes adorbs? Who seriously says that? And besides, totes adorbs didn’t accurately describe the hot and sexy and so very, very . . . limber Coach Michaels.

  Dallas bumped me with her shoulder. “It’s okay to crush on her, JB.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  That earned me an exaggerated wink. “Whatever you say.” She leapt to her feet. “Gotta go. Coach is giving me the stink-eye.”

  I noticed Rowan staring at me.

  So I gave her a double thumbs-up and a stupid, goofy grin. Not something Jensen Lund would do.

  I decided to stick around a little longer and see what shook out. I snickered to myself . . . and wished I’d come up with that pompom pun in time to share it with Dallas.

  Six

  ROWAN

  Seeing Jensen Lund at the U of M cheerleading tryouts should’ve been shock enough.

  But knowing he’d gone to the trouble to disguise himself so his presence wouldn’t disrupt the athletes had really shocked me. And driven home the point that there was more to the man than I’d given him credit for.

  I wouldn’t have known he was here if his cousin Dallas hadn’t told me. Somewhere along the line I’d forgotten that he and Dallas were related.

  After the last group session ended, I packed up my belongings and said good-bye to the staff who were leaving for the ice arena to work with the hockey cheerleaders.

  I scaled the bleacher steps and sat next to Jensen on the bench seat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Dallas spilled the beans.”

  “She was pretty nosy asking why you were here. I’m wondering too.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “You spoke so passionately about what you do that I wanted a firsthand look.”

  “This isn’t my normal day, thank goodness. The real culling process starts tomorrow. That’s the worst part. The tears and tantrums. I’ll pretty much want the whole bottle of wine tomorrow night rather than just a glass or two, even when I’m not the final judge.”

  “How much of your input is taken into consideration when the final decisions are made?”

>   “I’m called out if I put a huge NO on someone’s paperwork.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  I shrugged. And winced. That move aggravated the muscle in my shoulder that I’d pulled when I’d stepped in as a back spot for a stunt group. Before I could answer, Jensen leaned closer.

  “I recognize that wince of pain, Coach Michaels. What did you do?”

  Why did I like him calling me by my professional name? I faced him and we were so close that I noticed his glasses magnified the dark fringe of lashes surrounding those stunning blue eyes. “I pulled it during a demonstration. No big deal.”

  “When you did the cartwheel/back handspring/splits combo? Or the airborne somersault?

  What was an airborne somersault? My thoughts scrolled to that section of the routine. “Oh, you mean a standing back tuck?”

  “Yeah, that. Cool move.”

  I blinked at him. “Exactly how long have you been here, Lund?”

  “Long enough. So . . . Which side? Left or right?”

  “Left.”

  Then his big hand curled around the cup of my shoulder and his thumb just magically zeroed in on the sore spot. He lightly pressed. When I hissed in a breath, he dug his thumb in deeper.

  “Sweet baby Jesus, yes, right there.” I might’ve slumped forward in supplication and moaned without shame.

  Briefly, the circling and swirling motion stopped, but then he resumed.

  “Without seeming ungrateful, how the hell did you know exactly where to touch me?”

  “I’m a man. I’d better know all the best spots a woman needs to be touched.”

  The way he’d said that? Pure sex.

  “You know what I meant.”

  He paused. “I have the same issue on the left side after I’ve leapt to catch throws.”

  “Well, thank you. It’s feeling better now.”

  “Bullshit. My hands on you makes you nervous. Deal with it. Turn to the left, reach across your upper body and wrap your left hand over your right hip.”

  I should’ve reminded him that I had the degree in sports medicine, but his tone didn’t invite argument. As soon as I executed the movement the knot loosened and the pain vanished. Cranking my head around, I peered at him over my right shoulder. “That was incredible.”

  “I told you. I am very, very good with my hands.”

  The heat in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Or maybe the lenses of his fake glasses were flashing a false reflection. “Thank you,” I managed. “I’ll have to remember that trick.”

  “Don’t try it solo,” he warned. “You tense up again, find me. I’m great in a tight spot.”

  I’ll bet you are. I’d also bet you could loosen me up in no time at all.

  He lowered his hand. Slowly. Almost reluctantly. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Question? What question?

  “How much input you have on who makes the final cut on the various squads?”

  “Honestly? A lot. If a candidate is difficult, and I mean a serious pain in the ass to other candidates, that’s not someone we want to deal with several hours a day, five days a week, plus game times, for the next school year. We have an abundance of qualified candidates; why would we choose someone who doesn’t understand teamwork?”

  Jensen nodded. “Wish that attitude carried over to the pros. So freakin’ many glory seekers. It’s ‘what can the team do for me?’ rather than them being part of the team.” He shot me a sideways glance and a wry grin. “And no way am I naming names.”

  “You don’t have to, Lund. I’m on the inside, remember? I hear more team gossip than most.”

  “What do you hear about me?”

  “Talented. Cocky as hell, but you’ve got the stats to back it up—or at least you did the last year you played.”

  “Any of your insider sources react with surprise that I’m still on the roster?”

  “No more than anyone else who’s been on the injured reserve list this long.” I shook my head. “How’d we get off on this tangent? Anyway, thanks for coming today.”

  When I moved to stand, he clamped his hand on my thigh. “You’re leaving?”

  “It’s been a long day and it’ll be an even longer one tomorrow.”

  “But I still have a ton of questions.”

  I looked at him skeptically. “You do?”

  “Yeah. So I could ask my questions over dinner. Either we could go out someplace or we could order in.”

  I leveled my best “you’re up to something” evil eye at him

  He laughed. “Man, you are hard-core with that suspicious mom glare. I swear, I have no nefarious plans. I just thought we could share a meal and conversation. If either sucks, you can bail and be home in two seconds.”

  Spending the night by myself wasn’t appealing. Looking at Jensen Lund wouldn’t be a hardship. “Fine. Want me to grab takeout?”

  “How about you bring a bottle of wine and I’ll deal with the food. Lebanese okay?”

  “Sounds great.” I stood. “So an hour?”

  “See you then. Just knock.”

  I made my way to the bottom of the bleachers and back to the coaches’ area.

  Bree, one of the new student assistants for next year, said, “Is that weird-looking dude you were talking to your boyfriend?”

  “No.” I packed up my stuff. “Just a friend. Why?”

  “It’s creepy how he watched you. His eyes never left your butt the entire time you were walking away from him.”

  “He could hardly be looking at my face since I had my back to him, now could he?”

  “Whatever. Old-people lust is gross.”

  I froze. Old people. Really? She thought I was . . . old? I whirled around to chew her ass about rude assumptions, but she’d already taken off. Probably a good thing.

  But as I drove home, I had to wonder whether I had really been any different at age nineteen. Anyone out of college seemed old to me. And a thirty-year-old woman with a kid? Ancient.

  Dealing with college students every day had made me grateful that part of my life was over.

  I wondered if Jensen had many normal college days or if everything had revolved around his ability to catch a football. What degree had he earned before getting drafted into the pros?

  Guess if we ran out of normal dinner conversation that was something I’d bring up.

  • • •

  It’s not a damn date, Rowan. Just pick something to wear.

  I’d rummaged through my closet for the past ten minutes searching for an outfit that said friendly, but not sexy.

  No dresses.

  So . . . jeans and a T-shirt. But not like I tried too hard, wearing a hipster T-shirt with an emblem of an obscure band or brand of beer or clothing—which I had a drawer full of thanks to my hipster/stoner brother. I opted for a Justin Timberlake concert tee, black skinny jeans and no shoes. I’d just kick them off at the door anyway.

  I’d called Calder before I left the apartment. But as usual, he’d been almost too busy to talk to me. I briefly spoke to my mom